


Deeper in Your Veins

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Kinks, Knife Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-21
Updated: 2006-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Um...Sam and Dean. Kink. Nothing else to know, really.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Deeper in Your Veins  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Word Count:** 3, 590  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** Mentions of _Asylum_ and _The Benders_ ; incest, dark/graphic m/m sexual situations, knife play, bottom!Sam.  
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.   
**Summary:** Um…Sam and Dean. Kink. Nothing else to know, really.  
**Notes:** This is specifically for [ ](http://rachel-shanz.livejournal.com/profile)[**rachel_shanz**](http://rachel-shanz.livejournal.com/), who requested “OMG PLEASE do this…and have them do that…and then…” etc. Which is what this fic became.  
Also, this couldn’t have seen the light of day without [ ](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/)**la_folle_allure** ; my encyclopedia of Kinky Shit and Rewrites. *tackles and clings*  
  
  
  
  
Sam couldn’t look at Dean when his brother came in through the motel door, a case of beer in his arms and a plastic grocery bag dangling from one hand. Instead, he concentrated on the curve of the blade between his fingers, slowly sliding the cloth material back and forth.  
  
Cool night air lifted the fringe of hair from his forehead as Dean slammed the door with his foot, letting out a half-grunt before dropping the supplies on the rickety table by the window. Sam could feel Dean’s stare like a lead weight and reflexively hunched his shoulders.  
  
All he could see was Dean; tied to that goddamn chair…chest and wrists burned as some psychotic little bitch held a knife on him. All because of _Sam_. He swallowed the lump in his throat at the knowledge of what Dean must have gone through to get him back, choking back a whimper at the glaring truth that _he’d almost gotten Dean killed_. Not by a demon, not a vengeful poltergeist, but humans. Fucking depraved humans who’d strung him up and beat him and _burned_ Sam’s mistake into him.  
  
Dean was right, he really was slipping. Four years of not looking over his shoulder had made him sloppy, careless and here he was, a little bruised and cold but otherwise fine while Dean wasn’t ten feet away, shirtless and dressing the burn, packing it with Polysporin and herbs and wrapping a thick white gauze around the ugly mark that marred his tanned chest.  
  
Dean let out a little grunt of pain as he pressed a large square bandage across the wound, and Sam felt his fingers slip in their cleaning, felt the blade slice through the flat of his hand. Blood welled up through broken skin, but Sam barely noticed the sting, scrubbing furiously at his knife as if he could polish away the sight of Dean’s blood on another.  
  
“Hungry?”  
  
Sam shook his head, distracted by the way the metal gleamed beneath the cheap, dim lighting. Dean had riffled through the bag with his good arm, grabbing a bag of dill pickle chips before tenderly shrugging his shirt back on. Sam flexed his fingers, still imagining Dean at the mercy of the Benders and a slow tremble began through him. The blade slipped, again, and this time he let out a small sound, almost pleasured by the act. The pain was no more than he deserved, after all.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
He could hear Dean’s voice as if through thick glass, but couldn’t drag his gaze away from the streak across his palm. He lifted his hand, tilting it back and forth before idly licking the blood away and returning to polishing his weapon. He nicked himself another three times before suddenly Dean was standing over him, the shadow of his body stealing Sam’s light and Sam was forced to look up and meet his brother’s gaze for the first time since they’d gotten inside the Impala to find some shit-hole motel to rest for the night.  
  
The knife was jerked out of his hand before he could manage a reaction, a response, and then he was being hauled to his feet.   
  
“Dean,” Sam laughed shakily, a little uncertain by the look in his brother’s eye, his gaze flickering to the spot the poker seared. Dean was using his left hand to hold him up and Sam could only imagine how badly the wound must have been stinging. “The hell…?”  
  
Dean twirled the blade, taking a step closer. “On the bed, Sam,” he murmured, voice pitched low and dangerous. “I know you understand fucking English.”  
  
Sam stared at him, reading the tension thrumming throughout Dean’s body. His brother was close to shaking, and Sam could only wonder if the events of the last two days, Sam’s kidnapping, had finally succeeded in doing the impossible - blowing past Dean’s carefully constructed defenses. He kept his voice soft as Dean drew closer, panic and worry confusing themselves in his throat. “Dean… what?”  
  
“Get there. Now.” It was more of a growl than anything else and Sam couldn’t help the lump that rose in his throat, nearly choking him as he nodded and began to slowly approach the full-sized motel bed.  
  
Sam lay down, breathing heavily as Dean climbed up his body, straddling his hips and staring down at Sam with an unreadable expression coloring his features. He still held Sam’s knife in one hand, knuckles clenched tight and white; full lips still tempting even when pressed in a flat, disapproving line.  
  
“Dean,” he tried again, understanding the emotions coursing through his brother all too well. “Dean, I swear to God, I’m fine. But you, your shoul-”  
  
“Shut up.” Dean’s tone quavered and then before Sam could blink, the sharp blade was pressed against his collar. There was a rough ripping sound and then Sam gasped and arched his back as Dean held the two halves of his shirt in his free hand. There was a satisfied gleam piercing Dean’s eyes and Sam swallowed hard.  
  
“Look at you…totally fucking helpless,” Dean said, hoarse and thick. “Is this what it’s like, Sammy? You like cutting yourself?” There was a short, stunned silence during which Sam realized exactly what Dean was pissed off about. Then, “Answer me, goddamn it!”  
  
Sam’s lips trembled, body shuddering beneath Dean’s, but he couldn’t look into his brother’s shadowed eyes and lie. He remained silent, holding Dean’s gaze and praying for his brother to read the truth in his eyes. Terrified he would.  
  
Dean froze and then bit off a curse, cheeks flushing with – anger? Concern? Sam couldn’t really be sure. And he didn’t have long to ponder the situation before Dean’s mouth was against his chest, his velvety tongue stroking across Sam’s nipple.  
  
Sam let out a soft sound, wanting to reach up and bury his hand in close-cropped hair, press him closer, but he recognized this for what it was - not a seduction, but a punishment. And he remained still. “I’m sorry,” spilled out of his mouth anyway and Dean looked up from beneath his lashes.  
  
“No, but you will be,” Dean managed, voice thick with grief, and the dark promise and overwhelming love there had Sam’s cock swelling against his fly before he could help it. Goddamn his brother for having this power over him, for being able to turn his anxiety and anguish into desire and lust. Sam’s fingers reflexively curled around Dean’s shoulders, his thumb pressed right up against Dean’s injury and Sam moaned at the knowledge that Dean was marked, branded. And it was for him. All his.   
  
Just as it should be.  
  
He was completely aware of the fact that Dean still held his own knife on him and the cold press of deadly metal against bare skin shouldn’t have gotten him as fucking hard as it did. But it was _Dean_ doing this to him and Sam couldn’t help the full-body tremor. He was shivering all over as the blade traced the defined ridges in his chest, circling his nipple before Dean’s silken tongue lapped over it again.  
  
“You like that?” Dean murmured again, voice almost soothing as he sat up and licked his lips. He shifted the knife just slightly so that it drew along Sam’s collarbone, pressing firmly but not enough to break the skin. Yet. “Yeah, baby, I know you do. You always were a kinky little shit.”   
  
Sam whimpered a little, hips flexing as Dean’s expression remained passive and indecipherable. _Only with you!_ he wanted to cry out, reassure, but he knew it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good. Not after what Dean had seen. So he settled for a broken, “Please, Dean…”  
  
Dean’s mouth hardened, and then he was smiling the most fucking _wicked_ grin Sam had ever seen color his brother’s ridiculously sexy features. And that was saying something. “Begging already?” Dean whispered and pressed the blade down a bit harder. Sam hissed at the sting, still holding Dean’s gaze. “You’re making this too easy, Sammy.”  
  
Like there was really any other option where it concerned him and Dean. Sam had tried – God only _knew_ he’d _tried_ \- but when it came to Dean, Sam was rendered helpless. He’d once tried to hide it with sharp words and attitude but it never really worked. And it always ended with the two of them, together. Like this. Which was really all Sam had ever wanted in the first place and when Dean was crying out his name or vice-versa, it was hard to remember why he’d bothered resisting all of those months. This time, though…there was more at work than a few fighting words thrown back and forth, or even their many fucked-up family issues.   
  
This was about possession. Ownership. Marking. Dean was marked now and Sam wasn’t, and Sam knew that this was Dean’s way of fixing that gap, making them the same again.  
  
With that in mind, Sam kept still, letting his brother work out his pain and turmoil with a six-inch blade and pinched features. He knew Dean would never really hurt him despite the rage and frustration Sam knew was boiling inside; despite how Sam often wished Dean would just lose control and fuck him the way he so obviously wanted. God, Sam wanted Dean to lose control so badly sometimes. He wanted to wake up bruised and swollen and shivering and sore for weeks because of Dean.   
  
But for now, Dean was running the tip of the blade across his stomach, grazing, peeling through the first layer of skin with a sharp little sting, and Sam let out a breathy moan at the knowledge that this was as close as he was getting to having Dean hurt him the way he sometimes hurt Dean. And quite honestly, Sam was enjoying this. Just the feel of _his_ blade being wielded by Dean’s skilled fingers; _his_ blade being the one that was causing his nerve endings to scream and shake; _his_ Dean using _his_ beloved weapon of choice to mark him as _his_.   
  
Which… meant he really _was_ a kinky little bitch, and he should probably feel ashamed at how hard he was at Dean’s manhandling, but Dean was currently licking a trail from his neck to his jaw, and his brain didn’t seem to want to function properly…  
  
“You’re not allowed to hurt yourself. Do you understand me?” Dean said around a rough groan, reaching for Sam’s hand and sucking the tip of one long finger between his teeth. Sam shuddered and reflexively squeezed his hand around Dean’s wound, and Dean’s jolt of pain caused the knife to press a little too deep. His flesh gave way beneath the blade and they both froze, panting, as Sam’s blood gleamed on the tip.  
  
“It was an accident,” Sam gasped, not entirely sure if he was lying. That had felt so fucking good. He’d felt every sharp stab of the knife and had _wanted_ every one. Needed them, to cleanse himself of the responsibility he felt for what had happened to Dean. And he wasn’t quite there yet.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean rasped, looking horrified and furious. “Sam, I—”  
  
Sam shut him up the only way he knew how, reaching down and palming Dean through his jeans. His brother’s cock was thick and hard against the seam, and Sam couldn’t quite bite back an indrawn breath of anticipation. Flicking his eyes back up, he whispered – begged – for Dean to fuck him.  
  
Dean’s expression flickered for the briefest of moments, and then he was pulling back so quickly that Sam wanted to cry out from the coldness that replaced Dean’s heat. “You’re not in a position to ask me for anything right now, Sam.” Dean sounded destroyed, damaged, but there was a strength in his eyes that Sam didn’t miss. “I want you to shut up.”  
  
“Dean—”  
  
Sam cut himself off on a strangled moan when Dean slid the knife farther down his chest, barely nicking his flesh, but catching Sam’s attention nonetheless. There was a moment of heart-stopping silence as he met Dean’s gaze, and then he repeated his brother’s name almost challengingly.  
  
Dean’s throat worked, and then the blade cut into Sam again; somewhere different, somewhat deeper. Sam’s hips arched, a hiss escaping his lips as sweat broke out across his temples. There was mingled fascination and disgust coloring Dean’s face, but Sam felt the press of Dean’s cock against his upper thigh and relished the reaction.  
  
“Hurt me then,” he said, pleaded, desperate for something he’d never thought to get from his over-protective older brother. “Is that what you want, Dean?” He bucked his hips, careful not to send the blade sinking deeper into the thick muscle at his breast. “Do it.”  
  
“I told you to shut up,” Dean answered, voice shaking. His eyes were transfixed on the blood trickling from the small wound, a tortured sort of groan came from his throat, and Sam felt sick to his stomach. He’d gone too far, shown Dean too much, and now his brother knew the truth and—  
  
Dean lowered his head again, catching a few coppery drops on his tongue, and Sam nearly came in his pants like a fucking thirteen year old. He was barely cognizant of the knife still held against him, clenching his thighs and digging his heels into the mattress as Dean pulled back to look down at him through heavy lids.  
  
“Do it,” Sam prodded, wanting to scream in agony.   
  
“God, I want to,” Dean whispered, and Sam half-wondered if his brother realized he was speaking out loud. There was an almost dazed expression crossing Dean’s features, and Dean licked shiny lips while gazing down at Sam.  
  
Sam rolled his hips again, gritting his teeth as the fit in his pants grew too tight, too uncomfortable. “Then fucking _do it_ ,” he repeated on a hiss, fingers clenching into fists as he struggled not to take Dean by the shoulders and force him to do what they both obviously wanted. “I can take it, Dean.”  
  
Dean shook his head, slowly. “I…I don’t think you could, Sammy.” There was nothing of the Dean he was familiar with in that voice…it was someone darker, edgier, and Sam’s pulse began to race.  
  
“I trust you.”  
  
Dean’s fingers clenched around the hilt of the knife at that, and Sam held his breath as he waited for Dean to respond. Instead of words, his brother made a considering sound, trailing the blade across Sam’s abdomen, holding Sam’s gaze as he purred, “Do you? Do you really?”  
  
Sam knew it for the test it was, could practically feel the indecision warring through Dean, and pressed up into him, into the blade, letting every bit of twisted desire and pleasure bloom across his features. “I want it, Dean. Please…”  
  
And then, Dean was cursing, teeth sinking into Sam’s shoulder hard enough to bruise, and Sam cried out as Dean’s free hand held his hips against the bed. “You wanted this,” Dean’s voice was torn, harsh with desire, and Sam drew his bottom lip into his mouth. “You’ll fucking take it, won’t you, Sam?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam panted, squeezing his eyes shut as Dean’s mouth worked over his flesh; biting, sucking, licking…until every inch of Sam felt marked. Owned. By Dean. He lifted his hips in a silent plea, but Dean shook his head and growled into the divots of Sam’s stomach.  
  
All at once Sam became aware of the press of the knife again, low against his belly, and nearly whimpered when Dean pulled back and surged up to whisper into Sam’s ear, “One move, Sam, and who knows what might happen. Keep still.”  
  
And Sam obeyed, because it was what he wanted. He let Dean do things that would have horrified him were it anyone else, and all the while he groaned and begged for more. And Dean answered his need, going above and beyond the call of duty; fingers stretching, mouth whispering shockingly dirty things that had him squirming inside.  
  
It was when Dean pressed against him, both of them naked, skin-to-skin, and muttered, “Christ, I could take you like this…no fucking lube or anything,” that Sam reared up and almost tore a hole in his side. Dean immediately pulled back, several oaths springing to his lips, but Sam was beyond control now. The knife flew to the floor as Sam’s legs wrapped around his waist, bringing Dean’s cock flush against his ass and he ground his hips up.  
  
“Yeah,” he managed, catching the shocked gleam in Dean’s eyes. “I want that.” It would be the ultimate payback for what he’d done to Dean, and Sam could barely wait for the burning sensation of Dean’s dick punishing him.  
  
Dean’s mouth worked soundlessly, and then he released a sort of half-laugh, half-groan before saying, “Sam, I couldn’t…I wouldn’t do that. No.”  
  
Sweat and tears stung Sam’s eyes; gaze narrowing on Dean’s shoulder and the seared wound that decorated it. “No, please,” he managed, voice breaking slightly. He wasn’t aware of the almost child-like quality in his voice, but felt Dean go rigid above him. His thighs tightened around Dean’s middle, bitter fear coating his tongue at the idea that Dean would stop this. Wouldn’t finish punishing him the way he deserved. “Don’t.”  
  
“I _can’t_ …” Dean broke off when Sam rubbed against him, using every advantage he had against his older brother’s self-control. Dean’s jaw twitched, a mixture of anger and frustration written on his face. “Cut it out, Sammy. You had your fun.”  
  
Fun? Dean thought this was about _fun?_ Sam was abruptly furious, and said the one thing guaranteed to get him results. The one thing that Dean would consider unforgivable. “Fine. If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.”  
  
A pin could have dropped in the motel room, and it would’ve sounded like an iron anchor. Dean’s eyes went dark, features hard, and Sam held his breath as he awaited the sure explosion. When it came, it was with silken words which were almost more dangerous than if Dean had begun throwing things across the room.  
  
“You really want to go there? You really wanna test me like that?”  
  
“You know what I want.”  
  
And before he could take another breath, Sam found himself flipped over, dragged up to his knees as Dean pressed up against him, voice harsh and heavy in Sam’s ear. “You want to be punished, Sam? That it? Well, hell, we gotta lot of problems to work out, so where you wanna start? You taking off and leaving me? Is that worth a dry fuck, little brother?”  
  
Sam couldn’t find the words to reply, head falling between his shoulders as Dean’s fingers searched between his legs, finding Sam heavy and hot, circling him tightly. “Or how about you being a goddamn fucking asswipe to me for _months_ …shooting me in the shoulder…” Dean’s breath caught when Sam arched back, a quiet curse splitting his lips. “Damn it, Sam…how could you get taken away like that?”  
  
It was the honest grief in his brother’s voice that ripped deep into Sam’s chest where his heart thundered. He pressed his cheek into the pillow, offering himself up to Dean to do with as he chose. The nicks and scratches on his chest rubbed against the sheets, reopening the tiny wounds, but Sam didn’t notice the throbbing. “Dean, just…” he trailed off, unsure of what it was he needed anymore.   
  
“I want to fuck you so hard it scares me.” Dean’s fingers bit into Sam’s hips as the hollow confession fluttered against Sam’s ear. “I don’t know if I could…you make me so fucking…”  
  
“You couldn’t do anything I wouldn’t want.” And once Sam spoke that truth, he felt something inside of him open up, a weight ascend from his shoulders. Giddy excitement quavered in his tone when he looked over his shoulder, snaring Dean’s glittering gaze and adding, “This is you and me, Dean. Just _do it_.”  
  
“I’m not gonna hurt you because you have some fucked up pain fetish,” Dean growled, even as he lifted a palm to his mouth and started slicking his hand with saliva. Sam watched, savoring the moment when Dean wrapped his hand around himself and angled his hips into Sam’s.  
  
“It’s not a pain fetish,” Sam managed as his flesh gave way with a sharp burn, muscles bunching and shifting as he writhed under Dean. “It’s you.”  
  
He wasn’t sure if Dean understood, but then it didn’t matter because his brother was _finallyfuckinghim_ the way Sam had always wanted – without any seeming awareness that he could be pushing too much, stroking too hard. Sam wrapped an arm back around Dean’s neck, tilting his head and catching Dean’s ragged groan with his tongue.  
  
It was fast, sloppy, and it hurt like hell, but Sam came harder than he ever had before. Satisfaction seared away any lingering doubts he might’ve had when Dean joined him seconds later with a tortured sound of pleasure, hips pistoning and fingers almost bruising, and Sam’s entire body felt like a throbbing mass of retribution and justice.  
  
Dean didn’t speak as he pulled away, leaving Sam alone on the bed. He was back minutes later, treating the small wounds with medicated cream and trailing his lips along Sam’s tenderized flesh. “Better now, Sammy?” he whispered, and Sam realized he finally understood. “Never again, okay?”  
  
Sam just nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as the painful images finally disappeared beneath his brother’s hands.


End file.
